


Wedding

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weddings had always been a topic that both were comfortable with discussing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding

“Oh god, please tell me you sanitized before entering this room.” Joly’s voice was barely a quiver, and Grantaire lifted both eyebrows in Jehan’s direction, who simply giggled a bit and continued to run his gel-covered hands through Joly’s rich brown locks, trying to get some sort of semblance to them. Grantaire should’ve, of course, expected Joly to be an absolute mental case today. He normally was, but this was his _wedding_ after all.

“No, but I will, “ was Grantaire’s gruff reply as he turned on his heel and walked out, finding the nearest bathroom and washing his hands thoroughly. When he returned, he was met with hand sanitizer regardless, and _then_ he was allowed to approach the panicking groom.

“How are you?” he asked and Joly responded with a whimper.

“He’s perfectly fine," Jehan warbled softly. He, in contrast to Joly’s frenzy, looked absolutely calm and ethereal. He wore a black suit like the rest of the wedding party but had on a floral scarf which should have looked odd, but made him look weightless and bright like spring. White flowers were braided into his strawberry blond hair today, and his features were soft and excited. Joly, who always looked like he might vomit on a second’s notice due to the air particles in the room, looked as if he was ready to keel over and faint.

“He doesn’t look perfectly fine." Grantaire snorted obstinately, plopping into one of the wooden chairs nearby and fidgeting with his cufflinks, which Enjolras _swore_ weren’t crooked when he all but dressed him earlier. Grantaire didn’t do formal events, and he certainly didn’t do weddings so he felt helpless. This was especially true in calming the soon-to-be wed Joly down from a state of delirium.

Jehan let out a noise that Grantaire swore was an actual growl so he slumped over a little, defeated in his attempt at breaking the tension, and pressed his mouth in a firm line to keep any other unwanted comments from escaping. Nearby, Courfeyrac and Enjolras were with Combeferre as he got ready. At this thought, Grantaire straightened up and glanced at Jehan briefly.

“Why are we in separate rooms again?” Grantaire mumbled quietly, and he immediately winced when Jehan threw a flower in his direction, ducking from the attack just as it was about to thwack him on his skull. Joly swayed a little and, with much surprise, seemed to turn more green.

“It’s bad luck for groom and groom to see one another before the wedding.” Jehan finished pulling Joly’s hair this way and that, perfectly content with the direction that it had taken. Grantaire nodded and sunk back over, squirming a bit in the suit that he wore, before groaning aloud after a full minute of silence.

“When are we getting this show on the road?” Grantaire whined, and Jehan shot him a look that could have possibly stopped Grantaire’s heart if it weren’t for the fact that Joly was also looking at him expectantly as if he was wondering the same thing. The smaller man smiled and pecked Joly’s cheek with a brief kiss, careful not to touch him or his suit with his sticky fingers.

“I’ll go next door and ask Courfeyrac if they are almost ready, okay?” Jehan’s voice was soft and gentle as addressed the groom, the picture of relaxation and comfort. Grantaire almost envied him in a time like this. Then, the poet glanced up at the artist with an all knowing look, stepping closer and lowering his voice so that Joly could not hear him. “Make him more nervous and I will break your fingers.”

Grantaire, who was well aware what lingered behind those love poems and flowers, nodded slowly with widened eyes. Then, for effect, saluated. “Sir, yes sir.”

Jehan rolled his eyes before opening the door, and he stepped into the hallway where the other groom was waiting a couple of rooms down.  


The scene in this room was entirely different than the tension that hung in the air of the other. There was music playing, no doubt coming from Courfeyrac’s iPod, but not too loudly; the bass only shook the walls a bit. Courfeyrac was tapping his foot and singing along in annoying falsetto as he knotted Combeferre’s tie. Enjolras stood behind him, making sure his hair look perfect (as he had a tendency to do; with that much thick blond hair, one became quite good with a comb and some gel). Combeferre looked borderline edgy but barely so. Courfeyrac and Enjolras’s presence was enough to give him balance, and he was also very used to meditating for long hours, so he had slipped somewhat into that mind-state.

Jehan smiled and walked inside, turning down the music. “Almost ready?”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Just nearly, petal. What’d you think? Doesn’t he look handsome?” He spun Combeferre around in his chair and squeezed his shoulders.

Jehan gave him an once-over and smirked. “Very. Joly’s an extremely lucky man.”

Combeferre smiled genuinely and stood, studying his reflection in the mirror after shoving his glasses onto his face. “I’d say so,” he commented thoughtfully. “But I’m luckier.”

“You are. He looks gorgeous. He’s quite nervous, though.” Jehan hummed, and Courfeyrac held back ridiculous laughter because he could read his lover like a page from his poetry journal. He knew exactly how modest he was being in his description of Joly ‘being nervous’. Combeferre seemed to understand as well and smiled fondly.

Enjolras stood back and admired his handiwork before looking at Jehan.

“I think we’re ready.”

“Thank God. There are almost two-hundred people outside just sitting there. People just sitting around like lost sloths makes me nervous,” Courfeyrac said before smacking Combeferre’s rear, eliciting a surprised grunt. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Uh, thanks.” Combeferre smiled and looked at Jehan. “Once Joly’s out there, let me know and I’ll go out.”

Jehan nodded once before scurrying back to Joly’s room.

After making a quick stop to wash his hands free of hair gel, Jehan peeked back into Joly’s room to find that, thankfully, the man was still sitting upright. The colours on his cheeks looked fairly normal, and Grantaire was doing a very good job at keeping his mouth shut. Jehan grinned, satisfied, before touching Joly’s arm. “Time to get married.”

The sudden realization jolted Joly, as if the last couple of months planning for this moment had been imagined, and he wavered to his feet, his movements a little unsteady. Grantaire also stood and joined the pair, slapping a hand to Joly’s back which threw off the bit of balance that the man possessed. “Don’t worry, once you see Ferre everything will be fine.”

Jehan nodded with an encouraging murmur, steering them towards the door. “And Ferre looks insanely handsome.”

At this, Joly smiled and looked down at his hands, taking in a deep breath. Jehan noticed that he was doing a much better job at walking and was grateful for it.

Once Jehan had shifted Joly into Grantaire’s sometimes capable hands, he returned to Combeferre’s room and knocked, his voice sing-song. “We’ll be waiting for you guys. Break a leg!”

He heard Courfeyrac laugh in response followed by rustling movements, and Jehan beamed excitedly as he practically skipped to join Joly and Grantaire in front of their guests.

Meanwhile, Courfeyrac squeezed Combeferre’s shoulders and started annoyingly singing “The Final Countdown” while Enjolras rolled his eyes and Combeferre laughed lightheartedly. As they exited the room and made their way up the stairs, they could hear the music playing. Everything, of course, was perfect. Jehan had planned it. It was the epitome of class and romance and color.

Combeferre rolled his eyes as Courfeyrac asked one last time if he wanted to link arms with the both of them, and Enjolras took the last moment to pull him aside and give him a short speech about how proud of him he was, and how much of a spectacular husband he’ll be. It made Combeferre’s glasses steam a little bit, so he took them off and wiped them, and his cheeks, before hugging both of his best friends tightly.

Then, they set out walking down the aisle.

Jehan watched from the alter as Combeferre and Joly locked eyes, and he smiled as he saw the panic and worry melt away from the young doctor’s face and replace with excitement and something that could only be described as the most exuberant love. Combeferre’s expression was softer, filled with wonder and relief, probably because he didn’t walk out to find his fiancé in the fetal position on the floor. Feuilly and Bahorel were already in their places by the alter, smiling proudly. They had mainly been in charge of crowd control that morning and making sure everyone was where they needed to be. Bossuet was also already standing, as he had volunteered to do nothing, given he didn’t want any ripped tuxes or anything going up in flames. He mainly considered himself a human time-bomb, though Combeferre had warmly welcomed him to do whatever he’d like. He was, after all, Joly’s best man. But even Joly agreed it was better if Bossuet stayed put.

The walk didn’t last long and soon the music was hushed as the ceremony began. Jehan was standing on the opposite side of the altar as Courfeyrac but had a clear view of him. This was a blessing and also a curse, as Courf looked so painfully beautiful in his suit that Jehan wanted to wax lyrical about the way his waistcoat made his pectorals look, but Courf had a tendency of making funny faces at Jehan all throughout the ceremony and pretending to cry dramatically whenever something emotional happened. He was Jehan’s weakness, and his graceful exterior always cracked with Courfeyrac.

During the vows, which Jehan assisted Joly in writing after the man had a near panic attack, Courfeyrac became sidetracked by the poet who seemed to radiate with light and elation. Jehan could sense the man’s stares on him and, subtly, glanced over with a smile. Though it was small, it reached his eyes, and Courfeyrac felt himself inhale sharply at the sudden image of him at their own wedding.

Weddings had always been a topic that both were comfortable with discussing; Jehan was not shy with his affection, and Courfeyrac, despite the distress that it sometimes caused their friends, was more than willing to express how much he loved his flower (there was one time involving the cafe bathroom and Enjolras nearly banging down the door as he screamed, “You’ve both been in there for an hour, some of us need to use the restroom for its intended purpose!”). They desired to get married as soon as they could, and Courfeyrac knew that with Jehan’s natural abilities at planning weddings, it would be spectacular.

His thoughts wandered to spring colours and flowers everywhere (on the ground, the aisle, in everyone’s suits), and his heart clenched at the thought of them exchanging vows, of wearing golden bands on their fingers which declared to the world that they belonged to one another forever. To be Jehan’s husband, and vice-versa, would bring a sort of jubilance to Courfeyrac’s existence unlike any other. It made him feel a deep ache down in his body while his heart threatened to burst in his chest.

He blinked twice, clearing his head from the fog that he created, and shifted a bit just as Joly wiped away tears from Combeferre’s cheeks. The two had just finished saying their vows, murmured quietly between each other, and their hands were clasped together. Courfeyrac swallowed down his own fit of emotion, swearing to Grantaire that he would not cry, but when he turned, he saw that the artist’s expression was misty, bordering something close to tears.

 _Goddammit_ , Courf thought as he wiped at his eyes, and he looked up to Jehan doing the same.

Jehan, meanwhile, was having similar emotions. He subtly wiped away the one tear that escaped before looking back at the happy couple as they exchanged rings. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Courfeyrac’s hand would feel in his as he slipped the ring on his finger, or the way Courfeyrac would look into his eyes as he’d mutter “Til death do us part” with a wink, because no one wants to think about death at a wedding, and Jehan knows deep down in the very fibers of his being, in the deepest crevasse of his soul that not even death could tear his spirit away from Courfeyrac’s.

Jehan snapped out of whatever trance he’d fallen into when Joly burst into a fit of nervous giggles after stumbling over the phrase “I do” while Combeferre laughed along with him and looked at him like he’d just fallen from heaven into his arms.

“I do.” Joly finished firmly, nodding, his face flushed red. Combeferre repeated the phrase back at him proudly and, with everyone smiling tearfully, were announced married.

Combeferre pulled Joly into him in the softest embrace to deliver him with the softest kiss, and the audience erupted into applause. Joly was beaming like he’d just simultaneously won the lottery and discovered the cure for multiple sclerosis, and Combeferre’s glasses were so fogged the hazel eyes behind them were invisible.

Jehan’s heart soared as he went to find Courfeyrac, and he linked arms with the other man as they followed wedding procession out. Courfeyrac was warm against Jehan’s side, and Jehan was so full of emotion that it never occurred to the poet that yanking Courfeyrac into the private restroom before they headed to the reception was an odd thing to do. Courfeyrac was, of course, game, as public sex happened to be one of his favorite activities, and he was bursting at the seams with emotion as well. Neither of them said it but amongst the moans and gasps, the words ‘We should get married soon’ kind of hung in the air thickly.

Jehan spent around fifteen minutes fixing his hair before they both rushed to the reception. It had already started so they were met with Enjolras’s glares, the man not enjoying being left alone to babysit 200 people and, most importantly, his already more-than-tipsy boyfriend who was trying to get Cosette to dance the Thriller with him.

Combeferre and Joly arrived just after Jehan and Courfeyrac, looking twice as disheveled. The back of the limo must have been bumpy. They both shared shit-eating smirks on their faces, and Jehan beamed at Enjolras’s disgruntled expression. He floated over and pecked both of their cheeks, congratulating them again before herding them over to their seats.

There had been toasts of all sorts, everyone sending the happy couple the best of wishes in their future (and, much to the horror of Joly, the sex that they would be having tonight; Enjolras managed to snatch the microphone away from Bahorel and Grantaire before it got out of control). The food was delicious, rich meats drizzled in savory sauces, vegetables cooked to crispness, and delicate desserts that looked almost too good to eat. The atmosphere was upbeat and cheerful, decorations of deep reds, oranges, and browns weaved throughout the chairs, the walls, and the center pieces (which looked like ornate oriental fans, provided custom by Feuilly), and, of course, there were flowers expertly placed around the room.

While everyone was dancing, Courfeyrac was twirling a laughing Jehan, Combeferre and Joly were pressed close together, talking beneath their breaths and sharing kisses, and Enjolras was practically supporting Grantaire who could not stop laughing loudly or kissing everyone’s cheek in happiness, there was a distant yell for a bouquet toss. Combeferre, who pressed another kiss to Joly’s forehead, turned to Jehan, giving him a questioning look because they had not planned a bouquet toss of any sort. Courfeyrac grinned and kissed the frown that formed on his lover’s mouth as he contemplated what to do. Meanwhile, Grantaire had all but fallen on Combeferre, becoming dead weight as he slurred out, “I want to catch the flower! I want to get married to Enjolras _now_.”

There was much fussing and a little confusion but, after grabbing a rose from the couple’s table, Combeferre sorted everyone so that half their wedding party formed a mass huddle in front of him. He began counting down from three, and had barely gotten to one, when a number of things happened. As the rose flew through the air, Cosette and Bahorel got into a wrestling match, each trying to use the other as leverage to reach the rose before anyone else. Marius, who had a bit too much wine, was desperately trying to pull them apart and ended up flat on his rear, which caused a sprinting Bossuet to flop over him and faceplant. Grantaire had full intentions of grabbing the rose when he became distracted by a somewhat grumpy Enjolras off the far corner, and he ditched the chaos to, instead, press his lips to his boyfriend’s until the blond was grinning. This left Courfeyrac. He was in the very back of the group, waiting patiently for this all to be over with so that he could go back to dancing. He turned to Jehan to suggest just that when something hit him on the head, bounced off, and fell into his hands. This seemed to silence the entire room completely, Cosette stopped her struggle from where she lay half on top of Bahorel and the other half on a still dazed Marius, Enjolras and Grantaire pulled from one another with a surprisingly loud pop. Jehan stood smiling at Courfeyrac, his cheeks tinted pink from wine and dancing and the flower cupped in Courfeyrac’s palm. The curly haired man looked down in somewhat surprise, and the entire room burst into a cheer and encouraging claps.

Courfeyrac looked up at Jehan from under his thick lashes with a devious grin on his face and Jehan laughed. He wrapped his arms around the poet and kissed him deeply, the cheers growing in volume. Courfeyrac held the rose for the rest of the night, twirling it around his fingers or holding it under his nose. He didn’t normally believe in signs, but if this wasn’t one, then he didn’t know what to believe.

The night didn’t take long to end. Cake was cut and shoved in faces, more toasts were given, and finally everyone went outside to see off the newlyweds as they crawled into the back of the limo taking them to the airport, Joly mumbling about how he couldn’t wait to get out of these shoes and Combeferre chuckling and whispering that he couldn’t wait to get Joly out of more than that. Once they had disappeared down the road, Jehan turned to Courf and took both of his hands.

“Was it good?” he asked sincerely. Courfeyrac beamed and kissed him, tucking the rose into his hair.

“It was superb. Let’s do it again.”

Jehan grinned so wide it felt like he might burst.


End file.
